Hashtag Lemonhead
by Dumbothepatronus
Summary: Glideroy Lockhart shifted his selfie stick forty-five degrees to the right and frowned. Why was it that no matter how he tilted his camera, he couldn't get the perfect shots that Lucius always produced so effortlessly? Muggle!AU, One-shot


Written for Quidditch League, Falmouth Falcons, Beater 2

Prompt:

**Beater 2**: Department of Magical Transportation: Write about someone traveling

Optional Prompts:

(character) Gilderoy Lockhart

(color) lemon yellow

(word) imitation

This is a Muggle!AU fic.

Thank you to Elizabeth for betaing this for me!

* * *

Glideroy Lockhart shifted his selfie stick forty-five degrees to the right and frowned. Why was it that no matter how he tilted his camera, he couldn't get the perfect shots that Lucius always produced so effortlessly?

He shook his head, attempting to banish the image of steel-grey eyes and porcelain skin. Lucius Malfoy. High-school nemesis. Freaking _King_ of Instagram. One of these days, Glideroy was going to overtake him—him and his blasted lemon yellow signature scarf.

_Click. Click. Click-click-click._

Gilderoy hopped down from his perch on the Great Wall of China and examined the photos with a critical eye. He traced a perfectly manicured fingernail over the slight suggestion of a crow's eye winking back at him through his iPhone screen. Luckily, there was an app for that.

_#greatwall #travelblogger #eyecandy #stillsingle #followme #notsponsored_

What was it that Lucius always put in his hashtags? That must be the secret to his success. Glideroy was squinting at an absurdly popular image of Malfoy standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon (50,000 likes! How was that even possible?) when the tell-tale flash of yellow danced through his peripheral view.

"Normally I would say that imitation is the highest form of flattery. But even I can't find it within myself to be honored by the stalking of a measly—" Lucius squinted at his own phone, "—is this a joke? Three-hundred and twenty followers? You don't even rival my peacocks."

Gilderoy's teeth ground together as he glared at Lucius' immaculate white button-down. Had he left three buttons open? Ingenious.

With a sneer and a flourish, Lucius turned on his heel and began to float down the winding path of the Great Wall, looking every bit the ad for an upscale clothing company that his following suggested he was.

As much as he hated to admit it, Gilderoy did need him. Somehow, someway, he was certain Lucious Malfoy was the key to finding his own social media stride.

His pride stuck in his throat like a grisled piece of unchewed steak as he trotted after his… idol? No. Gilderoy Lockhart did not have idols. Not even the beloved hero, #TheWellTraveledOne, #TheBoyWhoLivedInEveryCountry, qualified for that role. Harry Potter's charitable journey around the globe had been the stuff of legends, not that Gilderoy would ever admit that out loud. After all, confidence is as confidence does.

Glideroy reached out patted Lucius on the shoulder. "What do you say we hop over to _The Schoolhouse_ for dinner? We could take a few shots of sake, then snap a few of the food..."

Lucius' lip curled. "If you're suggesting you'd like to do a collaboration, the answer is no. You can take your horrendous panda-print shirt and fifty-two followers elsewhere. You're not worth my time."

Three-hundred and twenty. Gilderoy sniffed. He had three-hundred and twenty followers.

Lucius sauntered down the walkway as if it were his own personal catwalk. Lemon yellow indeed. Lucius was about to discover exactly what Gilderoy Lockhart, secret winner of _Anonoymous' Best Up-and-Coming Computer Hacker's _award, was really capable of.

X

The next time Gilderoy Lockhart "accidentally" stumbled into Lucius Malfoy, next to a gondola dock in Venice, he was prepared. Though it had taken weeks of clattering away on a keyboard in the basement of his London townhome (which, by the way, had been murder on his complexion, but he was a man of sacrifice), the file hidden on his phone had been worth every unglamorous minute.

Lucius' sculpted eyebrows shot up toward his hairline as Glideroy slid into the boat ahead of him. "Still chasing after a sponsorship, I see?" He drew his phone as quickly as cowboy draws his revolver. "One hundred and ninety-nine? I'm impressed, Lockhard. It takes real talent to actually _lose_ followers."

Gilderoy smiled and handed a bill to the gondolier. "I may not be Instagram-famous, but I can snap shots of you on the boat from angles you could never achieve with your selfie stick."

"I suppose your presence is tolerable, so long as you are making yourself useful."

Perfect. That was all that Gilderoy needed.

"Be sure that the sunlight highlights my yellow cummerbund."

A bead of sweat collected at the top of Gilderoy's forehead as he pulled open Lucius' internet browser on his smartphone. It was lucky that Lucius had sprung for a top-of-the-line mobile hotspot on his phone, or downloading the virus would take too long. A suspicious Lucius could be Gilderoy's downfall.

Then again, perhaps as long as he kept varying the position of the phone and appearing to snap Lucius' photo from different angles, the egotistical blond wouldn't suspect a thing.

"Tilt your head towards that brownstone, Lucius—maybe just a hair higher with your chin. That's the ticket."

All it took was a little slip of his pointer finger in between photos five-hundred twelve and five-hundred thirteen, and the _Obliviate_ virus was safely hidden on Lucius' phone, waiting to automatically activate forty-eight hours later, when Gilderoy would be hundreds of miles away from Lucius' inevitable vengeance.

"You're all set!" Gilderoy placed Lucius' phone back into his pale, slender fingers. "I think you've got some real winners in there."

X

Gilderoy was busy when it happened. His pearly white smile, after all, didn't happen by accident. He checked the time on his phone—T-minus two minutes. In two minutes, the _Obliviate_ virus would sweep through Lucius' Malfoy's social media accounts, deleting him from the collective memory of the internet.

Gilderoy removed the blue-light teeth whitening device from his mouth and set it on the bedside table of his not-quite-swanky Paris hotel with gleeful anticipation. He may not be living a life of glamor yet, but that was all about to change. Very soon, each and every one of Lucius' 10 million followers would belong to him, and every photo, mention, and article about Lucius would bear _his _name—feature _his_ immaculately bright smile. It would be as if the Instagram King had never existed, and as if Gilderoy Lockhart had always been famous.

He doubted the internet would notice. After all, people never really looked properly, did they? Lucius Malfoy and himself were not so very different from each other that Gilderoy wouldn't be able to make a decent imitation of him.

Others would chalk it up to having just discovered the famous travel blogger. When they googled his name, countless articles touting his accomplishments, dating back year after year, would pop up as evidence of his long-standing presence. And really, what self-respecting social media influencer would admit to being unaware of one of the biggest sensations of the decade?

Sponsors would be ringing his phone off the hook to negotiate contracts.

Glideroy Lockhart would be staying in the fanciest hotels on somebody else's dime, and reading endless streams of flattering comments about his suave haircut and impeccable fashion sense.

And, best of all, Lucius' career would be ruined.

Glideroy refreshed his Instagram screen for the seventy-first time since he had sat down with his Shirley Temple and his spa night bag. A toothy grin slowly spread over his face as he peered down at his follower count: ten million, one-hundred and ninety-nine.

It was fifteen minutes before his ringer went off.

"Hello, Lucius. No, sorry, I'm afraid I can't help you. Anyone with less than one-thousand followers is hardly worth my time."

He grabbed his new lemon-yellow blazer, an imitation of one he had seen Lucius style to great effect, and flung it over his shoulder on his way out the door. Time to take his new-found fame for a ride on the streets of the City of Love.

X

Two years of hashtags and sponsorships later, Gilderoy Lockhart had slowly grown his starter ten million followers to an astounding twenty million through the continued use of his genius _Obliviate_ virus. Thanks to his stealthy tactics and remarkable photography skills, only one conspiracy theorist blog and two Youtube videos had speculated about his widespread success. Lockhart wasn't worried about them. He'd read the comments—most of them were fawning over his second victory over _Vouge Magazine's _"Most Charming Smile Award" or his flawless styling of whatever yellow thing he happened to be sporting that week.

He tucked his lemon button-down into the front of his white slacks as he quickened his pace on the crowded streets of Seattle. A head of rain-splattered black hair bobbed through the crowd on the sidewalk ahead of him—a head of hair that he was loathe to lose sight of.

His heart soared as the hairdo stopped, turned, and entered a humble red-brick building sandwiched between skyscrapers with modern lines. He paused to consider the aesthetics of the distressed brick before peering through the window to see Harry Potter leaning against a low counter, chatting with the clerk who stood behind it.

Whatever Potter was up to, it would be best to catch him on his way out, when there would be fewer witnesses. That, and his fine golden locks would contrast beautifully with the faded rust of this building front.

_#sponsored #lemonyellow #wishyouwereme #awardwinner #nobodydoesn'tloveglideroy #lockhartforpresident_

He had just hit the "post" button when the bell over the vintage wooden door chimed, and Gilderoy's mark exited the building.

"Why, if it isn't Potter! I scrolled past your post on Pioneer Square's homelessness plague just this morning. Fabulous lighting, though I believe your complexion would have benefited from a two-degree tilt to the west. But no matter, no matter!" Gilderoy clipped his phone onto his selfie stick. "We'll do a quick collab! With my award-winning face shining next to yours, you'll be sure to gain at least a thousand followers overnight! Hashtag match made in heaven!"

_Click-click-click-click. _"No need to worry, young man—we'll do some on your phone, too. I'm sure you have your own secret filtering program you run everything through before you post." Harry, the trusting little darling, handed his mobile over so Gilderoy could switch it out with his own. Excellent.

"Before I let you go, allow me to give you some advice from the very best in the business. It's not every day you have the opportunity to study under a bonafide travel guru." Now was his moment. All he needed was a moment; he had become so practiced in his movements and worked his virus to be so efficient that it took only seconds to download—only seconds to steal their fame from right under their under-moisturized noses.

"Smile, Harry. Nobody likes a grouchy traveler. Looks ungrateful, you know." How did this child manage 50 million followers? Certainly not with a grimace.

Aaaaand activate. #TheBoyWhoVanished.

"Well, it was wonderful running into you again. Maybe next time we can discuss a promoted post with my sponsors—it would do wonders for your image. You can't always be seen in those jeans and flannels; you're not a lumberjack."

His laugh sounded high and false even to himself. If he could land Harry's account, he'd have the biggest following on Instagram, period.

Gilderoy pulled a yellow handkerchief from the pocket of his pressed trousers and dabbed at the sheen of sweat that highlighted his forehead in all the wrong places as he walked away from his biggest competitor and towards his glamorous hotel. He preferred to be alone when the virus dropped, lest he be photographed with an unseemly expression on his face by one of his adoring fans.

Sixty minutes into a luxurious soak in his hotel room's jetted tub, he dried his hands on a bath towel and opened his favorite app with gleeful anticipation.

Odd. The virus hadn't taken effect yet. His eyes darted to the clock in the corner of his screen. Maybe he'd miscalculated.

Well, might as well check on how his latest posts were doing while he waited. He tapped on his feed and blinked several times.

Was that… a balloon? He hadn't taken any shots with a balloon lately. And why was it obstructing his beautiful face? And was it in...every photo?

He clicked one of the images to enlarge it. It wasn't a balloon at all. In place of his critically-acclaimed face was a giant lemon, with the word "fraud" written across it in Comic Sans. Horrified, he scrambled out of the bathtub and threw his cashmere robe around his shoulders. For the love of Steve, if someone was going to make a fool of him, they at least could have used a respectable font.

His eyes flicked back to the screen of his phone. Nineteen million followers. He shoved his hand through his golden blonde locks. One million followers down in less than an hour—even Tom Riddle's WandGate of 2015 didn't cause that big of a loss.

He stomped back to the bathroom and scrubbed body butter over his hands and arms so vigorously that his skin burned from the friction. What was he going to do? Was there somebody he could call to fix this—some sort of social media emergency hotline?

His hands froze on his elbows. The virus. Harry's phone. Harry must have had some type of progressive malware installed. Maybe if Gilderoy just sat at his trusty little keyboard and did some digging he would be able to fix whatever had gone wrong. After all, if there was anything he excelled at, it was hacking.

With a few clicks of his mouse, he pulled up the code on his laptop and scrolled through the lines. It wasn't long before he discovered a message embedded into the programming: "You think you can fool me, but you just can't, Lockhart. The gig is up. Search for 'Luna Lovegood' on Youtube."

Gilderoy clacked his teeth together as he pulled up the app on his screen. Luna Lovegood sounded like the worst possible news.

It turned out he didn't even need to type her name into the search bar; the video was number one on the "trending" list: _Gilderoy Lockhart and the_ _Malicious Imitation. _The thumbnail image depicted a wide-eyed blonde girl pointing to one of Lucius Malfoy's original photographs that had been doctored to feature Lockhart's sparkling smile.

He snapped his laptop shut with a click. There would be no hacking to cover this scandal up; according to the view counter, the entire online world already knew.

He was going to be the laughingstock of the internet.

But maybe—maybe it wasn't so bad. After all, his loyal supporters had stood by him whenever the odd conspiracy theory websites had revealed, in small parts, his nefarious schemes. Perhaps the million or so responses to Luna's video were a show of support from his fan club.

With a cringe and a hope, he scrolled down to disobey the number one rule of the internet: never read the comments.

_Lockhart has been scamming us this whole time! I knew he was hiding something behind that unnaturally white smile!_

_What. An. Idiot. Of course, I've known he was an imitation for years. I read all about it in 'Unfogging the Internet', by Xenophilius Lovegood._

_Lemonhead. Ha. I always thought yellow was a stupid color. _

_First!_

Well. If the internet wanted him to be a lemonhead, he supposed a lemonhead was what he would become.

X

A hot, stiff breeze stirred the tassels of Gilderoy Lockhart's full-length yellow housecoat as he stood at the base of one of the pyramids of Giza. Surely if any destination was beloved by the people, it was this one. The long arm of his selfie stick telescoped out in front of him as he tried to fit the entirety of his gargantuan lemon mask into the shot.

_#Lemonhead _

He didn't bother with any other hashtags. That was the only one he really needed; after two years of sporting the mask of shame, the internet knew where to find him.

A delighted guffaw boomed through the sweltering air around him as he pocketed his mobile phone.

"Why, if it isn't the biggest disgrace of the 21st century, come to sully the soils of ancient Egypt with his shame." Lucius Malfoy looked as glamorous as ever, surrounded by his entourage of albino peacocks as he strutted towards Gilderoy's selfie spot.

Lucius tutted his tongue. "Madness isn't really your color, is it?"

Something dark stirred behind Gilderoy's mental defence of careful apathy. He didn't want to think about this.

"Luckily for the entire travel industry, if there's one thing I pride myself on it's my sense of timing—that, and my useful connections. Who knew a scruffy, messy-haired philanthropist would be the key to restoring the King of Fashion to his rightful place?" Lucius pulled out his phone and tapped the camera icon. "Ah, yes. I see you've managed to hang on to your original one-hundred and ninety-nine followers. How… _precious_."

The sharp sting of failure hit Gilderoy right behind the fringed breast of his yellow coat as Lucius turned his back and sauntered away. But he held his ovoid head up high—because even if the world knew him as a madman, at least the world still knew him.


End file.
